


Luminous Beings Are We

by badwolfbadwolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Blow Jobs, Come Marking, Consent Issues, Explicit Consent, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Infertility, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Scent Marking, Sex Toys, Sexual Slavery, Slave Stiles Stilinski, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-18 23:00:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2365175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfbadwolf/pseuds/badwolfbadwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek doesn’t know why he’s at the omega auction house buying a dirty, sullen slave labeled as “defective” because he cannot produce offspring.  But there’s something in his scent, warm and soft beneath the dirt, that has Derek signing the papers and packing him in his car with little more thought than <i>’This one’</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry but I lost my groove on this one and it's incomplete and will likely remain that way. Just FYI so you don't waste your time. <3
> 
> Infertility is a very personal issue to me. Please make sure you heed the tags. Hugs to anyone who needs one.
> 
> "Luminous beings are we, not this crude matter." - Yoda, The Empire Strikes Back
> 
> Thanks to [eeyore9990](http://eeyore9990.tumblr.com) for being an awesome beta and friend and everything!

“You don’t want this one. He’s defective.” 

The slave stares at the ground like he can’t even hear the words, or, more likely, he’s choosing not to. He’s slumped over in his chair in an attempt to make himself as small as possible, his dark hair buzzed short, and all Derek can really see of his features is a smudged, slightly-upturned nose, and a smattering of moles dotted along a pale neck. It breaks Derek’s heart just a little bit as the seller brushes past him without another word, attempting to lead Derek to more fertile stock. 

But Derek doesn’t follow, can’t seem to move. 

There’s something about the slave’s scent that keeps him rooted to the spot. It’s mossy and dirty, a hint of plain soap and worn-out cotton stretched too thin. But that’s not what draws Derek in, though the scent of quiet dejection is almost enough to overwhelm him. There’s a sweetness beneath it, a soft and warm rumble that trembles on the ends of the boy’s eyelashes when he blinks them slowly, and Derek just _knows_.

“This one,” he says with authority, and the seller arches an eyebrow at him.

“Surely one of the Hales would prefer to pass down his genes.” 

The slave stiffens, crossing his arms over his torso, the shirtsleeves ripped and caked with red dirt, and Derek feels anger flash through him. He draws to his full height, looking regal and threatening at the same time, though he’s in jeans and a faded henley. 

“Why am I required to repeat myself?”

The seller ducks away with a deferential nod, and Derek says nothing as the paperwork is brought to him. He signs on two lines, and then he’s handed a contract, a full medical history, and the boy’s belongings in one tiny plastic bag. Derek tucks the papers into the bag and motions for the boy to follow him, his confidence waning as the finality of what he’s just done sinks in with the slave’s silent obedience to his first command.

The boy follows without a word, his eyes glued to the tops of his worn sneakers. He’s much taller than Derek thought now that he’s standing, though the hunched slope of his shoulders makes him currently shorter than Derek by a few inches.

“What’s your name?” Derek asks as they sit in his car, key still in hand. The slave has buckled on the seatbelt but otherwise is sitting still as a rock, eyes sullen and face a blank mask.

“Stiles,” he says, and Derek immediately wants to ask what does it mean, where does it come from, what is a Stiles? He bites his tongue, though, putting the key into the ignition and making the engine purr to life. The slave—Stiles—startles at the quick noise and Derek glances over with concern, wondering not for the first time what he’s gotten himself into. He knows absolutely nothing about this boy save for the medical markup he’s seen along with a pair of the boy’s ratty underwear, but he can guess enough. The thought doesn’t make him feel good.

“I’m Derek,” Derek says, and when the boy doesn’t seem to acknowledge it Derek gives up and looks forward, shifting the car into drive and heading out of the parking lot. The slave auction house is not exactly in the greatest part of town, but it’s adequate enough, the front at least presentable in an attempt to entice the wealthier alphas to do their business there. It’s not well frequented though, as many choose to do their business through private sale, or are gifted omegas from distinguished breeding lines as trade between the more powerful families. 

“I live just a little ways from here,” Derek explains, waving absently at the road when Stiles remains silent. He didn’t expect him to talk, but it’s still unnerving to have another person being so absolutely still next to him. They turn down the road into the preserve and Derek can see Stiles visibly tense up from his peripheral vision, the turn from civilization probably making him nervous because they’ll truly be _alone_. It makes Derek a little bitter to think what must have happened to the boy the last time he was purchased.

They arrive at the old Hale house, and Derek knows it’s imposing, the dark wood straining up towards the evening sky. There’s unfinished new construction on the far end of the second story, and the porch is crumbling a bit on the edges, but the structure is still there, and the underlying beauty. Stiles clutches his bag tightly and follows Derek when he gets out of the car, padding behind him and up the front stairs until they’re waiting on the dark doorstep for Derek to fish his keys out of his leather jacket.

“Do you live here alone?” Stiles says, and Derek can hear the little bit of awe that he’s tried to keep out of his voice.

“Yeah. I have a sister who visits sometimes, but it’s just us.” Derek shrugs a little as he turns the key and then pushes on the door with his shoulder, and the whole thing makes a disturbingly loud creak on its hinges as it swings open. He’s pleased Stiles has said something to him, _anything_ , but the subject of Derek’s family is a sore one he doesn’t like to dwell on. 

He gestures Stiles in past the threshold, shutting the door behind him as quietly as possible and indicating to Stiles that he can take off his shoes. He watches as Stiles turns pink with embarrassment as he bends to do so, and Derek hasn’t the faintest idea why until he notices that Stiles’ socks have holes in the toes and are threadbare, just like his pants and shirt.

“I’m working on restoring the place,” Derek explains as they both stand there, staring at the bare walls. “It’s been in my family for a long time. It’s kind of a work in progress.”

Stiles nods absently and Derek rubs his hands against his jeans for lack of anything better to do. “Look, I wasn’t actually expecting to buy”—he winces at the word choice—“today, so I don’t have very much for you. I’m sorry I was ill-prepared, but I can give you some of my clothes to wear and show you to your room. We can go shopping tomorrow for things you might need.”

Stiles doesn’t respond and he looks dully over the furnishings of the foyer and the adjoining rooms before staring at the floorboards again. 

“Alright?” Derek pushes.

“Yes,” Stiles answers, and it sounds like it was dutifully pulled from the pit of his stomach. The fact that he’s just prodded Stiles into answering a command makes Derek feel a little sick.

“Come on,” he says quickly, swallowing as he realizes it’s another command. But he doesn’t know what else to say so he leads the way up the stairs and turns right when they reach the landing. He pushes open a door to the guest room, made up in an old quilt and filled with some rickety wooden furniture, dust lining the ancient dresser and windowsill. “If you want to settle in, I’ll go get you some clothes. The bathroom’s down the hall.” He nods to indicate the door and then leaves Stiles to walk into the room silently, noting how he doesn’t close the door. Perhaps he doesn’t expect any type of privacy. 

Derek frowns and heads to his own room on the opposite side of the stairs, thinking he needs to read the fine print on the purchase agreement to see what kind of conditions he had blindly agreed to as he rummages through his dresser. He really should’ve been better prepared, but he wasn’t lying when he said he hadn’t been intending on purchasing an omega slave. Cora had been badgering him into looking lately, and with his twenty-fifth birthday looming in the distance, he knew he was running out of options. But it was either the auction house or being assigned an “extra” omega from a relative by the time he reached peak reproductive age, and Derek was definitely not interested in taking one of his uncle’s concubines.

He pulls out the smallest pair of sweatpants he owns, a pair of relatively new boxers, and a soft t-shirt, smelling them briefly and catching the whiff of detergent and cotton before heading back to Stiles’ room. He hates himself a little that he is eagerly anticipating Stiles’ scent mingled with his own on the clothes, and he pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind as he tentatively knocks on the open door. 

Stiles is putting his few things in the tall dresser and stiffens at the noise, turning to accept the clothes from Derek while being careful not to touch him at all.

“Do you want to shower?” Derek asks, careful to phrase it as a question so that it doesn’t seem like an order.

Stiles nods and Derek steps back so Stiles can pass, scenting dirt and anxiety as he shuffles by. Mercifully, Stiles closes the door to the bathroom and Derek blinks for a moment before padding back to his room. He sits on the armchair next to the window, unsure what to do with himself while his omega slave showers just down the hall. And with his stupid werewolf hearing he can hear every little noise, every scrape of fingers against skin, and the sound of the shampoo lid popping open. Derek has never lived with anybody, has hardly ever even had a lover, nevertheless a _slave_ , and the sense of someone _else_ in his house is so foreign he almost doesn’t know what to do with himself. Someone who belongs to him. Someone who he owns.

He’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t notice Stiles until he’s walking into the room and climbing up onto Derek’s bed, the towel wrapped around his skinny hips falling away as he pulls himself onto his hands and knees and bends his head down. Stiles is trembling, Derek can see it in his soft thighs, and he sits up straight in his chair, completely shocked to see Stiles naked and presenting himself.

After a few moments of silence, Stiles turns his head around, confusion clear on his face. His hair is wet still and a little spiky, and Derek swallows thickly as an overwhelming sense of _wrong_ wars with his complete rush of animalistic _want_ at seeing his new mate presented willingly to him. But, of course, he isn’t willing at all. It’s just a show because he thinks that’s what’s expected of him. Or else Derek will _punish_ him.

“What are you doing?” Derek finally says, clearing his throat at the end of the question and gripping the armrests so hard he can hear the wood creak.

“Don’t you want to fuck me?” Stiles replies, and his voice is monotone, like he’s wooden on the inside. Derek eyes his body for a minute, the soft skin drawn tight over sharp bones, littered with bruises and scratch marks in between the moles. His eyes fall to Stiles’ soft little cock, hanging beneath his body, and he has to look away in guilt.

“No,” Derek says, and it’s only half-true. He hates himself for that part of him that just wants to go and mount what’s his, but even though Stiles may be his slave, Derek still wants him to be a willing participant.

“Oh,” Stiles says, like he has no idea how to respond to that. He curls up on himself then, facing away from Derek, and Derek can start to hear little sniffles that soon turn into sobbing and then full out crying. Derek rises, his alpha instincts to comfort and protect flaring, but he also knows how wildly inappropriate that would be at this moment.

“I’m sorry,” Derek says uncomfortably, and this just sparks a loud hiccup from Stiles and another round of tears. Derek fusses with the hem of his shirt momentarily before clearing his throat and Stiles’ cries die down a touch so Derek can say, “I’ll just go for a bit.” He turns and walks out of the room quickly, closing the double doors to his bedroom and heading down the stairs to try and give Stiles some privacy, even though he can hear him clearly through the wooden floors. Hopefully Stiles doesn't know that.

Derek listens to him cry for a solid twenty minutes as he sits on his couch before there’s silence in the large house. He decides to let Stiles sleep in his room and finds a blanket for himself, and it’s not ‘til the early hours of the morning that he’s finally able to fall into an uncomfortable sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get off on the wrong foot. Again.

Derek wakes the next morning with a crick in his neck and a headache, utterly confused as to why he’s awake at 6:30 a.m. on a Sunday. Eventually he realizes it’s because he’s on the couch and the light is streaming through the curtainless windows; he normally sleeps like the dead with his blackout ones. Immediately he sits up as he remembers Stiles in his bed, a slight panic creeping over his chest as he worries about last night’s events that have merited him sleeping uncomfortably on the couch.

Stiles probably hates him now, thinks Derek doesn’t want him, and it will probably make everything ten times worse and ten times harder. _So stupid_ , Derek berates himself as he drags his body off the couch and walks to the kitchen, avoiding the squeaking floorboard and fiddling with the coffee machine. Ten minutes later he has his dark brewed coffee mixed with one tablespoon of creamer, and he sits at his farm-style kitchen table with his head in his hands. 

Cora. Cora will know what to do.

Derek pulls his phone from his pocket and sets it in front of him, pulling up her picture—the only time Cora had ever put on a dress, and a white one at that—and typing out a quick text. 

‘Hey, you awake?’

‘No. Jerk,’ Cora sends back quickly. Derek grimaces, remembering how early it is and how grumpy his sister is in the mornings. Or just, in general.

‘I bought an omega.’

‘Whaaaaaaat? OMG YES. When can i meet him. I’m coming over.’

‘No. NO. I think I screwed it up already. What do I do?’ Derek can practically hear Cora rolling her eyes at him, and then possibly laughing, but he knows it’s totally warranted in this case.

‘What happened?’

‘Um.’ Telling his sister about his sex life is not something he’s interested in doing, no matter how many times she talks about how fantastic newlywed sex is. Even the passing thought makes him shudder. ‘I think he thinks I don’t want him,’ Derek finally sends back.

‘Well go tell him that’s not the case. Make it up to him.’

‘How.’

‘Use your brain, numbskull. I can’t tell you how to woo your omega. You chose him for a reason.’

And that’s true. But Derek doesn’t even know what the reason was, other than that he smelled good and he kind of liked his buzzed hair and upturned nose, and _fuck_ , that was not the right way to start a relationship. Or whatever the fuck he’s doing with an omega slave. _His_ omega slave.

‘Alright. I’ll try.’

‘Good. Call me later.’

Derek tosses the phone away and drains the last of his cup, deciding it’s now late enough to venture upstairs and do… something. He’s not even sure what, but he feels drawn to the scent that’s seeping out from under his bedroom door, and the feeling that’s ramping up inside his chest is totally new and unidentifiable. Confused, he treads lightly up the stairs, listening intently to see if Stiles is still asleep, and the quick breaths and restless shifting tell him he’s not.

Derek pauses outside the door, hesitant, before finally knocking gently.

There’s silence then, the rustling having stopped, and Derek can hear Stiles’ heartbeat kick up. Well, fuck. That’s a bit of fear mixed in, too, where there was only sullen dejection yesterday.

“Hey, um,” Derek stutters out and then clears his throat. “Can I come in?”

“Okay,” comes the small voice. Derek pushes the door open slowly and peeks in, the room still dark, only the small halo of light seeping from the edges of the curtains making it slightly brighter than pitch black.

Derek can see clearly in the room though, and Stiles evidently knows this as well as he has the covers hitched up to just below his eyes. Derek watches as Stiles flexes his fingers slightly on the overturned edge, drawing in a deep, shuddery breath.

“I wanted to apologize for yesterday,” Derek says quickly, remaining at the door. “I don’t want to… I didn’t. I want you to…” He can’t seem to finish a sentence, doesn’t even know what he’s trying to say. “Can we start things slowly?” he finally gets out, and he feels relief flood through him when Stiles nods silently and his breathing seems to calm down.

“Okay.” Stiles’ voice is sleep-rough, and it's like a jolt through Derek’s system. His alpha-brain immediately hops to quiet mornings and warm kisses, hugging sleep-warm skin to him and smoothing a hand down Stiles’ naked back. Derek shakes his head to clear it, always annoyed when he’s not in complete control of his more animal instincts. But clearly, Stiles is making it increasingly harder to do so. He needs to get a grip on himself.

“I’m going to make breakfast now, if you’d like some. Do you like pancakes?”

Stiles appears to think it over, and Derek almost thinks he’s not going to say anything. But then, very quietly, he says, “I don’t know.”

Derek blinks multiple times to hide how he feels about that statement, his hand gripping the door tightly. “Okay. Well. Come down when you’re ready.” He lingers at the door, trying not to watch the way Stiles’ eyelashes look extra dark in the dim light, and how he’s sat up slightly so the covers are falling down over his collarbones. 

“If you want,” Derek adds belatedly, forgetting how every non-question would be interpreted as a command by an omega. He turns around with effort and shuts the door, clomping down the stairs loudly and banging around in the kitchen so Stiles can hear where he is, even though he knows that’s kind of a stupid idea. He has no idea what he’s doing, honestly.

Stiles totters down the stairs about ten minutes later and sits silently, watching Derek set the plates on the table and not touching a thing until Derek prompts him to go ahead. Then he stuffs in about fifteen pancakes, even more than Derek can eat, and Derek tries not to stare at the sharp bones of Stiles’ wrists as he’s shoveling the food in his pink mouth. He looks like such a tiny little thing in Derek’s white t-shirt, and the sight of him in it has Derek flushing with possession.

“I was thinking we could go in town and buy you some things,” Derek says into the silence, and Stiles sits back with a hand over his slightly rounded stomach, rubbing his belly idly and yawning before looking slightly sheepish. The whole set of motions makes Derek absolutely stiffen up, because to see his omega round and sated is doing something funny to his brain and he feels a little uncomfortable at the unbidden thoughts. Plus that is _absolutely_ not why he bought Stiles in the first place. Because Stiles can’t...

Stiles nods and slumps forward, grabbing a napkin and wiping off his face without much grace. He still has a tiny bit of syrup stuck to the top of his lip, and Derek wants so badly to reach over and smudge it off with his thumb, but he keeps his hands wrapped around his silverware.

Stiles gets up to do the dishes after a moment and Derek stares after him, wondering if he should say anything. Stiles doesn’t have to do the dishes, he doesn’t have to do anything, but maybe he did them before, and maybe that’s what he’s doing, slipping into his former role that he filled when he was with his last alpha? Derek feels bitter at the man without knowing a single thing about him other than that Stiles had bruise marks and thought he’d be required to have sex without more than five sentences passed between them. 

Stiles gives him a small smile when Derek hands him the serving plates, and Derek grunts in happiness.

The trip to the big box store is uneventful, save for Derek pressing Stiles to buy more than one shirt and one pair of jeans. He has on Derek’s shirt still, but his old pair of pants, the sweatpants too big and a little indecent to be seen in outdoors. Derek hovers near Stiles as they go through the checkout, hyper-aware of the many interested sets of eyes that are looking over the fresh meat, and the slight flaring of nostrils as other alphas scent the warm and clean smell of unbonded _omega_ that Stiles is emanating.

Stiles seems unaware of it, eyes roaming the candy bar display in the checkout lane, and Derek sweeps about ten of them into his basket without even thinking about it. Stiles’ pleased look makes him feel ten times lighter.

When they get home, Derek sends Stiles to his room to place the books he bought on his dresser and his toiletries in the guest bath while Derek pulls the tags off of Stiles’ new clothes and throws them in the washer. He’s a bit surprised when Stiles shows up about five minutes later, sitting down next to Derek on the couch and folding his hands dutifully on his lap while trying his best not to look uncomfortable.

Derek has never felt so awkward in his life. He doesn’t have much experience with omegas; the only alpha in his family is Peter, and he’s not exactly a great life coach. The only other talk he’s heard of regarding omegas has been either happy stories about lust at first scent, followed by quick fucks on the first surface they could get to. Or sometimes the more traditional ritual of scent marking until the omega was spurred into an alpha-induced heat. Followed by massive amounts of copulation. And then there were the few who made the bond more permanent and emotional—a mating bond. Derek didn't kid himself that he was prepared for any of those things anyways, but most certainly he was unsure what to do with the reticent boy seated next to him with his legs drawn up tight. 

“Do we need to go over some rules here?” Derek says as he picks at the fringe at the edge of the throw pillow.

“Do we?” Stiles tosses back, and it’s the most life Derek’s heard out of him yet.

“Yeah, like. Things you expect me to do and things I can expect you to do?”

“Why do we need rules? You tell me what to do and I do it. Haven’t you had a slave before?” Stiles’ eyes look wide and glassy, and he’s staring at the television set like he’s trying to keep any type of emotion off of his face. He’s doing a good job of it.

Derek swallows, nervous suddenly. Does Stiles think he’s a bad alpha? “No,” he finally admits, and he catches a slightly surprised raise of Stiles’ dark eyebrow. Derek never really noticed them earlier, but they’re dark and long, his skin pale against the tint of his features. “Look, I want to make things easier for you,” Derek begins, but he stops at the sharp look Stiles sends his way.

“I don’t need anything from you.”

It cuts a little too deep, and Derek swallows, his heart starting to clench slightly. Part of him is angry, because Stiles is his _slave_ and shouldn’t be back-talking like that to him, and the other part is floundering because he doesn’t know how to make things better and he really can't stand Stiles looking at him with such contempt. 

“I have to go to work tomorrow,” Derek says stiffly. “I expect you to stay inside the house while I’m gone.”

His words just make Stiles close in on himself further, and fuck, why is he so bad at this? Stiles is silent, though, has no retort for that. He’s probably fucking _afraid_ of Derek. Shit.

They end up watching TV in the most uncomfortable silence Derek has ever experienced. He makes a frozen pizza and leaves it on the table, stalking up the stairs silently and shutting his door unnecessarily hard without even a ‘good night.’ Some time later he hears Stiles creaking over the floorboards and then eating, followed by him cleaning up the pizza box and plates, and that itself makes Derek feel overwhelmingly guilty.

He wishes for the millionth time in his life that his mother was still here, because she always knew what to do. And Cora is a beta, so while she can give relationship advice that is—admittedly—alright, she can’t help him out with his alpha problems.

He sleeps in his own dark bed, but feels even worse in the morning than he had the previous night.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles meets Cora.

Work is horrible because Derek spends the entire time thinking about Stiles alone in his house. He shouldn’t have left him there. He shouldn’t have left without speaking to him. He’d left some muffins on the counter and a note about juice and frozen food in the fridge, but he really has no idea if Stiles even knows how to use a microwave. He’d even toyed with using some of his sick days, but he also knew that he might be using some of them shortly if Stiles had a heat coming up soon. Omegas tended to go into heat relatively quickly upon being paired with a new alpha, though it could be hard to predict when exactly. Part of their biology or something to make the bond stronger.

Not like Stiles is anywhere near even having a civil conversation with him, so perhaps this was all a moot point. Five o’clock can’t come fast enough, and Derek sweeps out of the office without even a word to his secretary, loosening his tie as he clambers into his car and takes off.

Does Stiles like Chinese? Maybe he should get Chinese. Derek thinks about getting Stiles a phone so that way he could ask him these types of questions and maybe he could see if Stiles knows how to drive, and he could go pick up dinner in the future and have it ready when Derek gets home. But he’s getting ahead of himself, his stupid animal brain jumping to nesting and _home_ when they aren’t even at cordial. Plus most omegas don’t even have phones. Too much freedom. Supposedly. Derek grimaces at the old-fashioned thought and decides to just head home instead of picking something up, resolving to actually talk to Stiles this time, and at least find out if he likes broccoli or not. 

He feels the clenching in his chest begin to loosen as he pulls up the driveway to his house because he can hear Stiles’ steady and strong heartbeat coming from the living room. He’s there and safe. The thump-thump picks up slightly as Stiles obviously hears the car pull up and then the door slam, and Derek does his best to look pleasant as he opens the front door and glances through the doorway to his right.

Stiles is seated on the couch, wearing new jeans that actually fit him and a purple hoodie, zipped all the way up, his hair a little flattened and sticking up in the back but clean. He’s sipping on a juice box and has a plate of crackers next to him that he immediately grabs up off the couch cushion and sets on the coffee table in front of him.

“Hi,” Derek says as he toes off his shoes and pulls his tie the rest of the way loose from the knot at his throat.

“Hello,” Stiles says, and Derek’s glad that at least he’s not being given the silent treatment.

Stiles is watching Derek shrug off his suit jacket and he feels self-conscious, like he’s being examined for the first time. He slides the silk tie through the shirt collar and wraps it around his hand once, letting the feel of the soft fabric ground him as Stiles’ honey brown eyes flick over him and then back to the television. “How was your day?” Derek asks as he lingers in the doorway.

“Fine.” So they’re on one-word sentences now. That’s an improvement, at least.

“Did you get anything to eat?”

“Yes.” Stiles waves his hands to indicate the plate of crackers after a minute, looking like he’s fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

“I meant did you have a meal?” Derek can feel the gruff edge to his voice, and he’s trying so hard not to be overbearing, but he can’t seem to help it when Stiles is acting so surly.

“I had the muffins earlier and had cereal for lunch. This is a snack. There, are you happy?”

Derek frowns slightly, but he is pleased that Stiles had eaten that much at least. Stiles could stand to gain a few pounds, definitely, the hoodie baggy around his chest. Derek had been planning on heading upstairs to change but he doesn’t want to end the conversation so soon, so he moves to sit on the armchair adjacent to the couch. The TV plays on mute in the background, the lights flickering in the early shadows of the fall evening.

“Look,” Derek says, eyes fixed on his socks so he doesn’t have to feel Stiles’ cool gaze on him and also so he doesn’t lose his nerve. He takes a deep, calming breath, the scent of Stiles soothing the ache in his chest even further though it’s making his palms a little sweaty with nervousness. It feels good to be around him, though, even if Stiles doesn’t seem particularly happy about the whole situation just yet. He clears his throat, the speech he’d planned out on the way home suddenly rolling off his tongue. “I haven’t had a slave before. I want to look out for you, and make sure you’re okay. I’m not going to harm you. I’m sorry for whatever happened to you before two days ago, and for how I can’t seem to figure out what to say to you, but you’re definitely not making it easy on me.”

Stiles has the decency to look slightly embarrassed, grabbing his juice box and making a loud slurping noise before setting it back down with a murmured, ‘Sorry.’

“Can you promise to try to not act like a brat if I promise that I am trying my best here?” Derek waits for Stiles to answer, because as much as Stiles is his slave, Derek still wants very badly to be accepted by him. He wants to be his alpha, not just his... owner.

Stiles picks up a cracker and appears to think for a moment before nodding stiffly and saying, “Alright,” and then shoving the cracker in his mouth so he won’t have to say anything further. He smells a bit anxious, but at least it’s not fear or loathing or something worse.

“Okay then.” Derek drums his hands on his lap, relieved, and then moves to stand. “I’m going to go change now.” He feels dumb announcing these things, but he really wants Stiles to trust him and the first step to that is being transparent.

He heads upstairs to change quickly, throwing on jeans and a dark sweater, the big house always a bit drafty in the evenings. He can hear that Stiles hasn’t gotten up from his spot and Derek heads back downstairs without thought like he’s magnetized. It’s only been two days and being apart is already a little painful; Derek doesn’t know what will happen when he inevitably has to go away on business as periodically happens.

Derek stops in the kitchen and digs through the take-out menus that are in the top drawer of his kitchen desk. He hands several to Stiles, careful not to touch him, and then Derek retreats quickly back to his armchair as Stiles rifles through the large pile with gusto.

“I’m not a very good cook, honestly,” Derek says, his lips quirking faintly. “As you’ve undoubtedly realized.”

“Well, yeah.” Stiles pauses as he wrinkles his nose. “You have good taste in frozen pizza toppings at least,” he quips offhandedly as he leafs through a particularly large menu, and that has Derek fighting to hide a real smile. He’s stupidly pleased that his omega has complimented his providing, no matter how trivial it may have been. And how terrible he actually is at providing.

Stiles decides on Thai food, asking Derek to order for him, and Derek orders several dishes so Stiles can try them. Yes to broccoli, no to mushrooms. There, he’s learned something about him now.

They eat in silence but it’s much more comfortable this time. Stiles picks out an old Adam West-era Batman movie to watch, and Derek learns something else about him.

It’s much easier to sleep knowing Stiles is full and warm and maybe not happy but at least not totally pissed at him. It’s not enough, really, nowhere _near_ enough, but Derek finally has hope that it will get there eventually.

***

They fall into a bit of a routine. Derek leaves Stiles baked goods and Stiles stuffs them in while Derek’s gone. Derek’s lucky if he gets one bite of pre-packaged cupcake at the end of the work day, but honestly he doesn’t really mind. It’s only been a few days but they are slightly easier around each other, breathing a little looser, limbs a little more relaxed. Stiles watches the entire Doctor Who series on Netflix before tentatively asking Derek if they could go back to the store to buy some more books, and Derek takes him there immediately. He buys him more clothes and a WiiU, and any other food item that Stiles even looks at for a split second. Stiles acts annoyed but his face is flushed, his cheeks looking a little fuller, and that all combines to make Derek warm and happy as he packs their bags into the car.

***

Saturday morning and Derek’s up early, never seeming to get the hang of sleeping in. He surveys his list of home repair projects while Stiles is still asleep in his room, his breathing sweet and even. After plain yogurt and a coffee, Derek gets caught up in re-shingling the roof, and it’s several hours later when the sound of the screen door smacking shut startles him out of his focus.

“Your phone was beeping,” Stiles calls up to Derek as he waves the thing in the air and squints up at him. He still has on plaid pajama pants and the white t-shirt that Derek had given him that first night. It makes Derek’s heart clench.

“What’s it say?” Derek calls down, and Stiles gives him a skeptical eyebrow raise but slides his finger across the screen and looks down at the message.

“‘Answer your fucking phone.’ And then, ‘I’m coming over, idiot.’” He reads the message deadpan, but Derek can tell he’s trying not to smirk.

“It’s my sister,” Derek yells back, setting down his hammer and hitching up his sagging toolbelt. Stupid Cora. What is she even doing awake before noon anyways? “You should put on a coat if you come outside.”

“You’re just wearing a tank top,” Stiles points out, and Derek looks down at himself. He’s covered in dirt with crisp brown leaves stuck to his boots, the sun and hard work making him sweat despite the coolness of the air. 

“Alright, no jacket then. I’m coming down.”

Stiles smiles beatifically. “I left you a muffin.”

The combination makes Derek nearly slip off the ladder.

***

They both manage to shower before Cora gets there, the hot water just holding out, and Derek’s still toweling off his hair when she bangs on the door.

“Hey,” she intones, giving him a once over and a smirk as soon as he swings the heavy door open.

“No, it’s not—” he begins, but Stiles rounds the corner and Derek stops talking immediately.

Cora quickly assumes the persona of a normal person, standing up a little straighter and swinging her straight brown hair over her shoulder. “Hi.” She smiles politely in a way Derek thinks he’s never seen before and he narrows his eyes as she sticks her hand out and Stiles reluctantly shakes it.

“Hi,” Stiles parrots back, and he looks much more withdrawn than he did earlier on the front lawn.

“I’m Cora. Derek’s younger sister.”

Stiles nods and Cora brandishes a dark, square pan. “I know my lunkhead brother can’t cook worth a damn so I thought I’d bring you some brownies. Not like that’s a meal or anything, but everyone likes brownies, right? Hope you like the extra fudgy kind.”

“I do,” Stiles says with a tentative smile, and he looks to Derek for direction before reaching for the brownie pan.

“Thanks,” Derek says gruffly, though he’s actually kind of warmed by Cora’s gesture.

Cora brushes past them and into the kitchen, pulling a casserole dish out of the canvas bag hanging off her shoulder and slipping it into the fridge. 

“For later,” Cora whispers conspiratorially to Stiles, and Derek watches with slight jealousy as he flushes slightly at her wink and sets the pan down on the table.

“Isaac couldn’t make it?” Derek asks, grabbing a butter knife and starting to cut the brownies into something resembling squares. It’s never too early for brownies.

“Nah, he had to work today, but he said to say hi. We can maybe have you over for dinner sometime soon,” Cora chatters as she pulls the knife away from Derek and proceeds to cut much more neatly than Derek’s messy attempt. “Isaac’s my husband,” Cora says to Stiles as she levers one out and places it on a napkin.

“I’ve seen the pictures,” Stiles says, accepting a brownie. Derek’s a bit surprised, because it hadn’t seemed like Stiles was that interested in his surroundings, but apparently he’d noticed the family photos in the hallway. “That sounds nice.”

“Great! So where do you come from, Stiles? What are your likes and dislikes? Derek treating you alright?”

Stiles and Derek both shift uncomfortably in their chairs and Derek grabs the knife back and stands up, putting himself between Stiles and Cora’s barrage of questions.

“Things are fine,” he says, putting the pan on the counter and wiping his hand off on the towel.

She raises her thick eyebrow— a Hale family trademark— but doesn’t say anything else.

“Okay, well really I just wanted to stop and say hi and drop off some food so you boys didn’t starve to death. You never can tell with you bachelor-alpha types.”

Derek crosses his arms and looks mock-annoyed, but he relents a little and laughs when Cora elbows him right in the gut. “Jerk.”

“Butthead,” she says endearingly. “Alright, I’m going, but don’t let him be all closed off and annoying, Stiles. Sometimes you need to just hold him down and tickle him ‘til he bursts, and then he’ll be a cute little marshmallow.”

Stiles laughs a little and then stops himself quickly, looking to Derek like he’s afraid of being reprimanded, and that makes Derek tense up more than anything else.

They follow Cora out to the foyer and she turns to wave goodbye to them, looking like she wants to give Stiles a hug, but Derek looms close to him to ward her off. She’s his own family, but Derek has hardly even touched Stiles yet— he doesn’t need Cora scaring him off so soon.

“Nice to meet you, Stiles,” Cora says, smiling genuinely.

“You too,” Stiles says back, looking up through his lashes shyly.

“I’ll call you about dinner next week. I can make… something.” Derek furrows his brow because he’s not even sure why he’s said that; he hasn’t _ever_ brought food to a family gathering, but he doesn’t want to seem like such a helpless loser in front of Stiles.

Cora laughs lightheartedly. “Don’t strain yourself. Bye, boys!” She waves and turns quickly, slamming the door on the way out.

“She makes good brownies,” Stiles comments as they turn to head back in.

“You have to put up with her annoying face, though,” Derek says. “Still, she’s family. I don’t have a lot of them so…”

He trails off because Stiles has a pained far-off look on his face, and Derek swallows thickly. “Sorry, did you want to talk about…”

“No,” Stiles says quickly. He sits down on the couch and buries his nose in a new book without looking up, and the swift turn from shy and sweet to closed off and pained is like a slap to Derek’s face. 

Well, crap. Derek can’t ever get anything right.

***

“Why don’t you ever touch me?” Stiles asks as he sits at the kitchen table, watching Derek burn some eggs on the stove on Sunday morning.

The question surprises Derek and he switches off the burner, turning to fiddle with the plates so he can keep his reaction hidden from Stiles’ open face. “Why are you asking me that?”

When he turns back around Stiles looks sullen again, one leg pulled up, fiddling with the edge of the placemat.

“I don’t smell like you. When we go out…”

Derek’s made every effort to keep his hands off Stiles even though he’s dying to brush against his skin just a little. And he _does_ know how dangerous it is to take an unbonded omega out, but he absolutely doesn’t want to touch without Stiles’ permission. Though maybe he’s hinting at it here. Derek puts the eggs on two plates and brings them to the table, setting one in front of Stiles and looking at the sad way the overcooked yoke has deflated down into a goopy, charred mess.

Stiles looks small and drawn in on himself, grabbing for the fork and holding it to the table without moving towards the food. “Don’t you want me? I know I’m not… I can’t... but why did you buy me?”

Derek swallows thickly, because he’s not even sure how to answer the questions. “I won’t touch you without your permission,” Derek says eventually.

Stiles lets go of the fork and reaches out tentatively with his hand, touching Derek softly on the forearm. The light brush makes Derek stiffen up and he watches frozen as Stiles’ fingers play lightly up his arm and then rest on his bicep.

“Could you… could you mark me? So everyone knows I’m yours.” Stiles pulls his hand back and is resting it on the table now, looking squarely at his plate in terror like he thinks Derek’s about to reject him.

Derek swallows again and eases out of his chair, sliding down to his knees and next to Stiles. He’s about chest level with him and he holds out his hands open, like he’s approaching a skittish animal, giving Stiles every opportunity to tell him to stop. He feels like he should say something but he doesn’t want to fuck it up yet again, so he just accepts it when Stiles wraps his hands loosely around his shoulders and hugs him in tight. 

It’s awkward with the chair in the way, but Derek nuzzles against his chest and then pushes his nose up to bury it in the crook of Stiles’ neck, turning his head to push his beard against the soft skin and rub his scent there. It’s half wolf, half alpha, and Derek nearly purrs as Stiles’ hands get a little bolder and press him tight, kneading into his shoulders and holding onto him.

It’s absolutely the closest they’ve ever been, and Derek is almost reluctant to pull away but he does with an awkward clear of his throat, avoiding Stiles’ eyes as he kneels next to him on the floor. He thinks briefly how Cora would laugh at him, the big alpha, kneeling in front of his omega, but it doesn’t seem like a laughing matter at all. They stay that way for a moment until Derek finally pulls himself up and back into his chair, motioning for Stiles to start on his eggs.

Stiles shovels in a bite and only grimaces slightly, turning to give Derek a little smile to show that he’s mostly teasing about it. Derek feels lighter than he’s ever felt.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles goes into an early heat.

A squeaking noise has Derek startling out of sleep, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the sliver of light streaming in from his cracked door.

“Derek?”

There’s a tremor in Stiles’ voice that immediately tells Derek that something’s wrong. Stiles whines, high and reedy, and holy _shit_ something’s very wrong.

Derek sits up in bed, his mind slowly dragging to alertness as he tries to process what’s happening, but suddenly he’s got a lapful of wriggling boy and a hard dick pressed against his stomach.

Stiles bends his head and tucks it against Derek’s chest, humping his hips in a slow grind that makes Derek groan, his own cock stirring at the stimulation. And fuck, if this isn’t everything he’s been dreaming about since first seeing Stiles’ upturned little nose and soft, pink lips, but this is _not_ going to be how it’s happening the first time, with Stiles heat-drunk out of his mind and barely coherent.

“Stiles…” Derek soothes, pressing his hand to Stiles’ forehead and feeling how feverish he is. “It’s too early for your heat. Way too early.”

But even as he says it, Stiles keens, his body hot and ready against him, his legs sliding further apart as he starts begging for Derek to fill him up. Derek didn’t think Stiles would react this quickly to being scent-marked by his alpha, but his little body is so responsive, leaning into every touch that Derek ghosts on his naked back as he tries to maneuver him down onto the bed, completely unsure what to do next.

“Need it, Derek. Need you so bad,” Stiles pants, face screwed up and pajama pants wet and clinging to his thighs. Derek can smell the slick on him, the sweat, the pheromones pouring out of him as he tries to rut against Derek and just ends up with air, whining with frustrated little mewls.

“No, Stiles,” Derek says firmly, and it startles Stiles enough to open his eyes, gazing at Derek with pupils blown wide.

“But, don’t you want to,” Stiles says, his lip trembling. He bites it hard, his body rolling again as another wave of want washes through him, and it takes every ounce of control Derek has to stay his hands and just fist the sheets on either side of Stiles’ head.

“No. I need you of clear mind to consent, and it’s too late for that now.”

Stiles whines again and rolls over, pushing his ass up into the air and keeping his chest pressed down into the mattress. “Please, Der. Please. Pleaaaase.”

Derek stumbles off the bed, trying to put distance between them because he can only handle so much.

“Stiles, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry but I just can’t…” Derek feels a sinking sort of feeling in his gut, because he really is screwed here. Fuck Stiles and be a monster, don’t fuck him and ignore his omega’s needs. And be a monster. There is no way to win.

And then Stiles starts to cry. Full-out, desperate sobbing that makes Derek feel like the worst piece of shit in the world.

“You don’t want me. No one wants me. It’s because I’m broken, isn’t it… because I can’t have any… because…” He hiccups and then breaks into sobs anew. “Because I’m fucking _defective_ and that man told you and you read my paperwork. And you won’t even _touch_ me. I thought with you it’d be different.”

Derek freezes for a second and takes a deep breath, the absolute wrong move, because the flood of Stiles’ heat pheromones mixed with his crying has Derek’s alpha trying to claw its way out of his chest. He finds himself back on the bed, pulling Stiles’ head into his lap and wiping at the tears streaking down his face.

“I want you. I really, really want you,” Derek surprises himself by saying, because it’s true. As much as he’s been trying to repress the feeling for the past week or so, it’s been torture to keep his hands off the boy. “I want to knot you so good. Who wouldn’t want to do that to you? You’re gorgeous.”

Stiles sniffs and wipes at his nose, turning his head sideways in Derek’s lap and looking up at him through clumped eyelashes. He appears to examine Derek’s face to determine his sincerity, pulling his eyebrows together and then turning to burrow his head back in the soft fabric of Derek’s sweatpants.

“Heats have always been…” Stiles pauses for a long time, and Derek’s not sure he’s going to continue. “There’s a lot of expectations that I just can’t fulfill. Most weren’t particularly nice about it.” Stiles sounds suddenly bitter, his body stiffening and his fingers gripping Derek tightly. 

Derek’s heart nearly breaks in two, and he tugs Stiles up and onto his lap, pushing his legs to one side and cradling Stiles to his chest. Now that Stiles’ crying has slowed, he’s shuddering in Derek’s arms, his skin fever-hot and slipping against Derek’s hands and arms.

“Stiles,” Derek says as he pets down Stiles’ spine, watching him shudder and then relax into the touch. “I want you to be happy. I don’t want to breed you.” Derek feels uncomfortable instantly, because he knows that’s not entirely true. Well sure, he wants Stiles happy, but alphas are meant to breed. They’re meant to have their omegas on their backs, legs in the air, pumping them full of come until it takes and they’re round with it. Things are more complicated than they were even five minutes ago, and Derek bites down on his lip, his fangs already itching to drop at just the thought of knocking up his omega.

“Then why won’t you fuck me?” Stiles says, all trace of bitterness gone as the swell of heat across his skin makes him keen. He bites his lip, one hand slipping down to rub his cock through his pajama pants and spreading his legs as much as he can in Derek’s lap. 

Derek keeps his hands firmly on Stiles’ back, the scent of precome squeezing out of Stiles’ cock filling his nostrils. Stiles smells so _good_ , his sweat combining with Derek’s scent, and Derek tries to think again why he _isn’t_ fucking Stiles right this instant.

“Knotting is a big deal… mating…” He winces, because they’d just be going through the motions, not actually _mating_ , and he can see Stiles tense up at the mention. “I want you to consent to me knotting you. I want you to really want it, not just have it be a biological imperative. And you can’t do that right now.”

Stiles whines and presses his forehead against Derek’s collarbone, rutting into his own hand and back against Derek’s thighs. “But I’m telling you _right now_ that I want it. I need it. Derek. Please, Der. Please, I need it so bad. So fucking bad.”

“We have.” Derek swallows to gather courage. “Options. I could take you to the heat clinic for unbonded omegas—” at the mention of it Stiles wails and closes his eyes, shaking his head vehemently, “—or I have some things here. Toys. I could help you, but. But I won’t knot you.”

“Okay, okay, yes, toys. That one. Please, Der. Can you stay and help me? I need you inside of me. Any part of you. Right now,” Stiles moans, his voice slowly ramping up from needy to desperate.

“Alright, shhh, I’ve got you,” Derek soothes as he kisses Stiles forehead, relieved now that the decision’s been made. He keeps hold of Stiles with one hand and reaches over to his dresser, pulling out a bottle of lube and discarding it, and then fishing out the new toys that he’d bought. He had been a little embarrassed at the time, but he was nothing if not prepared, and was relieved he’d finally done _something_ right for his omega.

When Stiles sees the knotting dildo he whines high in his throat again and shimmies off of Derek, flat onto his belly and tugging his wet pants down just enough to expose his ass. It’s still dark in the room, though Derek can see everything clearly, and when Stiles raises on his knees to present himself, Derek feels white-hot heat sear through him. This is _his_ omega, _his_ slave, _his_ property. His to mount and fuck and knot, and he grits his teeth as he moves carefully to his knees and brings the toy up to hover over Stiles.

“Is this alright? You’re sure?” Derek asks, feeling like he is actually being a little cruel with the way Stiles is shuddering, but he has to be absolutely sure. As sure as he can be with a heat-drunk slave in his bedroom in the middle of the night.

“Yes, please, just fucking put it in me, you big jerk,” Stiles growls, hiking his hips up higher and pressing back in desperation. Derek tries not to look, but Stiles is wet, _so_ wet, his ass high and round, rosy little hole flexing in anticipation of being stuffed full.

He presses the tip of the dildo up to Stiles, lube unnecessary as it just sinks right in, the sight of Stiles opening up so eagerly making Derek groan and leak out precome of his own, messing his boxers.

“Yesssss,” Stiles hisses out. “Keep going, you fucking bastard.” Derek laughs a little— apparently Stiles has a mouth on him. But he obliges, pressing the toy in as Stiles bears down on it, watching it just slip inside. And is he fucking jealous of a toy? Maybe. Definitely. Yes. He pumps it in and out of Stiles a few times experimentally, Stiles’ low moans hitting deep in Derek’s stomach, stealing his breath away. He can do this. He can do this. He can fuck Stiles with this fake cock and totally keep it in his pants.

Stiles stiffens when the knot presses into him though, his thighs quivering visibly and heartbeat tripping as he holds his breath.

“Is this okay?” Derek asks, his eyebrows creasing with concern.

“Yeah, just. Just slow,” Stiles pants, visibly trying to relax himself. Derek waits until Stiles motions for him to speed things along and then pushes on the toy again, his cock aching in sympathy as the thick knot squeezes past Stiles’ muscles and then disappears inside. Stiles looks so full, so stretched, that Derek’s fangs _do_ drop, though he’s careful to keep his claws in check.

“Derek,” Stiles whispers, his limbs turning lax once the knot’s inside, making Derek’s heart stop for a moment. Stiles whimpers like a kitten and shifts back into Derek’s hands, and Derek tentatively slides one hand lower, cupping the boy’s balls softly and making Stiles moan with shaky breaths.

“Yeah, please. Make me come on your knot.”

Derek wraps his hand loosely around Stiles, giving him a few tugs and learning what the boy likes. They’re silent save for the moaning, and Derek vaguely thinks this is why sex should take place after they’ve known more about each other other than how they like their toast in the morning.

It’s only a minute later that Stiles is spurting out onto Derek’s sheets, pants around his knees and making the most obscene noises. Derek just barely holds onto his sanity, his cock feeling hard and heavy between his legs as he falls down next to Stiles and lets him cuddle up. Stiles feels warm still, but not fever-hot anymore, and he sleepily pulls Derek’s arm over his shoulder and grinds back into his dick.

“You can come on me,” Stiles says in a quiet voice, sounding like he’s on the verge of drifting off right that second. Derek has a moment of bitterness when he thinks about how many times Stiles may have offered that concession to someone else. Stiles is snoring in a matter of moments, though, and Derek is _not_ about to jerk off on his sleeping slave, so he waits until he thinks Stiles is totally conked out before easing out of the bed and stroking himself with an embarrassingly quick amount of jerks before he’s coming into a tissue.

Derek hesitates as he holds onto the edge of the bed, wondering if this is what Stiles truly wants. Will he be mad if he wakes up with Derek’s arms around him? Will he be mad he didn’t knot him, or mad that Derek helped get him off? Will he wake up with Stiles grinding up on him again, or will this first heat be a passing one, just an indication of what’s to come?

But Stiles’ scent is too inviting, the sheets warm, and Derek ends up tucked against him, too tired to think about anything more than how right it feels to be back-to-chest with his sated omega.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cow, I'm so sorry this took forever for me to update. This last month was stupidly busy at work and aggggh. I have more free time now. I will not be so long between updates next time! I'M SORRY!! <333

The warmth makes Derek sleep deeply, the sound of his first alarm that he never needs rousing him just barely. He paws at the nightstand to shut it off and then shifts back under the covers, nuzzling into the warmth of a soft body sleeping between his arms. He’s dozing again when the second alarm rings ten minutes later, and this time his brain jerks himself back to reality. Because first off, he normally sleeps alone, and also it’s Monday and he’s probably going to be late for work.

Stiles pushes back against him, and apparently he’s a sound sleeper because his face is lax, unconcerned with the alarms or Derek's jerky motions. Derek takes in a deep breath to soothe his nerves, and the smells of sex and come mingled together on Stiles’ skin spark an unexpected mix of emotions in him. He feels his body respond viscerally as Stiles shuffles forward in his sleep, pushing his bare ass back against Derek’s stomach, and Derek can clearly feel the base of the plug still seated inside of the omega. Apparently he’d slept with it in all night. The thought has Derek’s cock filling up to full hardness, and he pulls himself away from Stiles gingerly, trying not to wake him.

It’s too late though, because as soon as they’re not touching Stiles’ eyelids flutter open and he blinks at him in confusion.

“Where you going?” Stiles slurs slightly, shifting around to his back and rubbing his eyes.

Derek reaches forward and brushes Stiles’ forehead under the guise of concern, but really because he’s reluctant to pull away completely. “I have to go to work. I think your fever’s gone.”

Stiles nods and bites his lip, and Derek’s dying to know what he’s actually thinking. Stiles is silent, though, tugging the sheets tighter around himself and trying to wrap them around his feet.

“Will you be okay here if I go? I can stay.”

Stiles smiles almost shyly at the offer, like he doesn’t have Derek’s knotting dildo firmly secured in his ass. “I’m fine. It was just a pre-heat. It’ll probably get… worse. But not for a little bit. In a couple days, probably.”

Derek nods, dropping his head onto the pillow, his hands tucked beneath it to resist the temptation to touch Stiles again before he’s said it was okay. “I can be late. I think we need to figure some stuff out first.”

Stiles’ eyebrows come together but he nods, rolling over on his side so he’s facing Derek and they’re only about a foot apart. Derek can smell sex on him distinctly, his cock refusing to get soft no matter how much he’s willing it to.

Derek decides to just get it over with, because holding back really hasn’t been working for him, and what do they have left to be embarrassed about, really? 

But before he even opens his mouth, Stiles blurts out, “I want you to knot me.” Then he flushes fully, wiggling a little, and a new scent of arousal curls up to Derek’s nose. “Next time, during my heat. Would that be okay?”

Derek notices how Stiles had tacked on the specification of ‘when he’s in heat’, but his palms turn sweaty and his body flushes warm all over. “Yeah, that’s okay,” Derek whispers, fingers twitching. Stiles grows bold and reaches to grab for them, wrapping their hands together and drawing them close to his chest. Derek can hear his own heart hammering wildly and he drums up the courage to say his next sentence. “Can you tell me what you want for next time? So we don’t have to do this again.” He’s half-afraid Stiles will refuse or be too embarrassed, but Stiles brushes up even closer, their knees touching now.

“I like being mounted,” Stiles whispers, his cheeks flaming red as his eyelids drop. Derek stares at his nose and lips, counting the freckles on his cheek and trying not to move at all. “I want your hands on me everywhere, your cock hot inside me, your teeth on my neck. I want you to fuck me hard and not apologize for it.”

It’s suddenly much hotter beneath the blankets, and Derek doesn’t think he’s ever heard Stiles articulate his wants in such a clear manner before. Stiles pulls their hands further down his stomach until the backs of Derek’s knuckles are just skating the top of Stiles’ hard cock.

“Can you… please? It’s what I need.”

Derek tugs Stiles in closer, scenting along his collarbone and neck. Stiles smells sweet and slightly sweaty, but there’s not a trace of the heat pheromones left over. Stiles is of clear mind. Consenting. Asking Derek to get him off.

They roll over so Stiles is on his back and Stiles spreads his legs easily, opening up underneath Derek’s body, the purple base of the plug slipping out just a little bit. 

“I have rules,” Derek says as he reaches down and pushes on the toy, sliding it back into Stiles and making him grunt out.

“You and your rules,” Stiles huffs back with a slight eye-roll. 

“You need to talk to me. Tell me what you like. And what you don’t. And if you want me to stop, you need to tell me right away.”

Stiles gets a little more serious. “I trust you.”

It feels like a jolt right in his heart, but Derek can hear the simple truth in the words. He smiles shakily, bending down to rub his cheek against Stiles’, marking him again. He wants to say ‘mine’, but he doesn’t want to scare Stiles away with his caveman mentality.

“I know I was kind of desperate for—” Stiles breaks off to blush endearingly, staring at Derek’s chest and not meeting his eyes. “—for it. Er, or for you. You know. And, I do want to go slow. So, maybe we can work up to the knotting before heat, but.” Stiles trails off, and Derek fights hard with himself not to just roll the boy over, slip out the dildo and replace it with his cock. But he has manners and can control himself. He really can, even though it’s really fucking hard to. “But it kind of meant a lot that I asked you to and you didn’t. It meant a whole lot.”

Derek lets the words fall over him like a soft blanket, because he doesn’t think there’s anything better Stiles could say to him. Nothing. The feeling in his chest is almost disconcerting, the way it feels like his heart is a little bigger, settling against his ribcage. The place where their skin is touching is suddenly not enough, and Derek wants more. He wants everything Stiles wants. He wants to give him the world and cupcakes and brownies and his knot about twenty million times ‘til Stiles is filled up and crying.

“Yeah it was, uh, no problem,” Derek says lightly, because it had been decidedly less than easy to keep himself off of Stiles last night, but he sure as fuck doesn’t want the omega to know just how close he’d been to losing it.

Shifting again, Stiles almost purrs as he moves Derek’s hands closer again, their knuckles brushing against his skin, the smell of fluid oozing out of his cock making Derek’s head feel funny. In a thrilling, wonderful sort of way.

“Can you… now?”

Derek swallows heavily, trying to get himself under control again. “Okay. Be specific.”

“Touch my… my cock. Please? And are you… are you okay with using your mouth?” Derek doesn’t understand why Stiles seems so nervous all of a sudden, but his eyes are cast down and his lip is nearly bitten raw. “Because some alphas don’t want to… Or I can, to you first?”

Derek really thinks about it for a minute, his heart clenching for the umpteenth time at Stiles’ horrifying expectations of this arrangement. “This isn’t a quid-pro-quo, Stiles. You don’t need to do things to me so I’ll do things to you. I’ll do them to you because you’re my omega, and because I _want_ to. I’ll bury my tongue inside your ass and lick my come out because I _want_ to. I’ll suck your cock so long you’re crying because I _want_ to.” Stiles is looking at him now, eyes big and honeyed, pupils blown wide. “Assuming you say it’s okay first.”

Stiles actually laughs a little, pushing at Derek’s wrists to tug him closer and squirming beneath Derek’s big body. “Yes. Yes, it’s okay. It’s really okay. Can you get on with it now please?”

Derek doesn’t move yet, though, because he wants Stiles to understand him completely. He _needs_ him to if this is ever going to work between them. And he feels like they’re close to something new and great and scary all at once. “I’m not going to punish you every time you ask for something. Don’t you know that by now, Stiles?”

“Yeah, I just… I’m not used to it…”

“I know.” The moment turns sweet and Derek leans down, a breath away from Stiles’ parted lips. “Is it alright if I kiss you?” 

“Yeah,” Stiles breathes, closing the gap between them. They lick into each other’s mouths, slow and deliberate, and Derek doesn’t even care that they haven’t brushed their teeth yet. It’s much slower this time, each little touch an exploration, the pads of Derek’s fingers mapping over each dip and valley of Stiles’ hips and belly before wrapping around his waist and pulling their bodies flush.

They don’t talk anymore, tongues too busy, and it’s Stiles who takes Derek’s hand and wraps it over his cock, showing him how he likes to be stroked. Derek bats his hand away after a minute, sliding down Stiles’ thin body ‘til his feet are hanging off the edge of the bed. The scent of Stiles’ sex is nearly overwhelming, making Derek’s knot start to ache at the base of his cock. He buries his nose in the curls of dark hair between Stiles’ legs, breathing in deeply, tongue darting out to taste for the first time.

And Stiles reacts like he’s never had a tongue on his dick, and maybe he hasn’t, maybe he’s only been used before, like a receptacle for some asshole Alpha. Derek growls as he thinks the thought, caught between wanting to stake his claim over his mate to this imaginary Alpha and wanting to show Stiles what real pleasure feels like between two people who actually want to be having sex together. Derek laps at his skin with renewed vigor, trying to tease out every whine and grunt from Stiles, his inner-wolf purring each time his omega twitches and purrs.

Once Stiles gets going, though, he gets much more vocal, shouting out when Derek’s tongue dips into the slit and then slides down to take him in fully. His hands twist in the sheets like he’s reluctant to touch Derek, staying his hips so they don’t jerk too much, but Derek drops down on him, taking him in as far as possible in one swoop. After a few minutes of finesse he gets down and dirty, sucking Stiles in sloppily, the wet noises of sex filling the room.

“Holy fuck,” Stiles gets out when Derek adds a hand to cup the soft swell of his balls, giving him a tug before sliding down and gently pulling on the plug. Derek half wishes he could see the thick knot sliding out of Stiles, watch it stretch his skin thin and pink, but he doesn’t want to take his mouth off of him or stop the omega’s now wildly bucking hips.

“Der, I’m gonna come,” Stiles moans, pushing at Derek’s head like he’s trying to get him off, and Derek lets him, confused. He’s not sure if Stiles thinks he doesn’t want to swallow or if he just doesn’t like being sucked while coming—though how would he know?— but they’re not at the point where he can just keep going because he really _doesn’t_ know what Stiles wants.

But as soon as the fake knot is pushed back in hard, Stiles’ come is hot all over Derek’s chin, painting across his cheek, and when Derek closes his eyes and licks at his lips he hears Stiles groan fully above him.

Stiles shudders for a good minute, his breathing slowly coming back to normal, and his hands in Derek’s hair growing more gentle. He looks down at Derek with heavy-lidded eyes, gorgeous in the half-light from the drawn shades, sweaty all over and face a rosy flush. Sex-drunk and come-dumb is a good look on him, and the wolf in Derek vows to keep him that way as often as possible.

“Was that alright?” Derek asks nervously, lapping at the come on Stiles’ stomach and then abruptly stopping when he thinks that Stiles might think it’s weird. He shifts up onto his knees and has to adjust his dick in his sweatpants, trying not to make a face because he’s about fucking dying. He is blazingly aware that he’s never gotten to come on or in Stiles, the pleasure from satisfying his mate only partially soothing his wolfy instincts.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, throwing an arm over his eyes like he’s embarrassed to make eye contact. “You’re good at that.”

Derek grins at the praise from his omega, that tight feeling in his chest resurfacing even as his hand trails down to cup his dick through his pants. “Shit, Stiles. Can I… will you be alright if I... can I come on you?”

Derek braces for a rebuff or for Stiles to close off again, but instead Stiles tips his head back, making an obscene groaning noise. His voice is throaty as he rasps out, “God, yes, fucking— fucking _mark_ me.”

He wishes it was Stiles’ hand pulling him out, jacking him off hard and fast, but there’ll be time for that later. Lots of time. He comes quickly, the sight of his come shining on his omega’s belly making him nearly growl, his fangs itching to drop. His immediate thought is to push the come inside Stiles, onto his tongue or deep into his ass, plugging it in with the dildo and leaving Stiles like that for the rest of the day. He doesn’t though, instead flopping forward and kissing Stiles, letting the fluid cool on the lean muscles and letting Stiles shuffle sideways into him.

Stiles nearly falls asleep again but then peels himself off of Derek and limps to the bathroom, not accepting help.

“Ew, no,” he says with an endearing wrinkle to his nose when Derek offers to help with the dildo. And Derek can’t help but listen as Stiles putters around in his bathroom, feeling pride welling up that he’s finally bedded his omega in his own bed. Maybe they’ll even sleep together in it again tonight.

Derek’s two hours late to work, but he couldn’t care less.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://badwolfbadwof.tumblr.com)!


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